


New Recruits

by nicoleiacross



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sassy Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicoleiacross/pseuds/nicoleiacross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke's a little tired of hiding out on the ramparts. Parading around in the courtyard was either the best idea he's had lately, or the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Recruits

After a few days, Garrett gets tired of sneaking around in the dead of night, of hiding on the ramparts and Cullen’s office—ok. That, he might not be tired of. Nothing will ever be boring about badgering Cullen.

But  _sneaking around_ … is not his forte. He declares as much when Cassandra snaps at him for causing a commotion. To be fair, it’s not as though he started a riot; just a few excited whispers among the populace.

Varric walks out into the courtyard—trying to figure out  _who Cassandra could possibly yelling at before noon_ —just as Garrett  _prances_  out of Cassandra’s immediate grabbing range, his voice a shrill falsetto, accent embellished, “ _You’re a mage!_ ” He laughs and avoids a swing of her fist with a practiced ease (honestly, he’s annoyed Carver worse and he’s gotten away unscathed), “Of course, I am. And you’re a Seeker. Seems neither of us are too good at what we should be doing, are we? Why should  _I_  run and hide? You aren’t harbouring any lunatic Templar here—and if you are, we are going to have  _very_  long words. Besides,  _Alistair’s_  allowed to run amok during the day, why can’t I?”

Varric snorts and quickly steps between them before Cassandra can think to draw her sword (though, that doesn’t stop her hand from creeping towards the hilt), “Hawke, this isn’t Aveline. She’s not just going to throw your ass out of the barracks; she’s going to throw you  _off the damn mountain_.”

Cassandra looks properly mortified by the accusation and ready to deny it, even as Garrett nearly doubles over laughing. Varric doesn’t even get a moment to congratulate himself on his minor victory when a deep voice cuts through the stuttered defense and effectively silences Garrett.

“She’s more than welcome to  _try_.”

Varric’s only moderately surprised that Garrett’s neck doesn’t snap with how quickly he looks up (he’d be amused; but, there’s a thinly veiled fear in his eyes, drowned out only by the shock) and… well. This was one of the outcomes he’d been hoping to avoid.

Fenris has his arms crossed over his chest; he’s leveling Cassandra with the same cold, devoid expression he used to give Anders when he got fed up with him. The one that no one ever knew how to read—whether to take it as a sign he was bored and stopped listening or if they should be  _very wary_  and ready to stop him from ripping the mage’s heart from his chest.

Sebastian—of  _all people, choir boy_ —has his arms crossed, as well—though his is a rather patient gesture—with an apologetic smile on his face, when he gives a mild sigh and tries to assure Cassandra that they aren’t here to cause trouble, despite Fenris’ threat. His bow is across his back and… for some reason, that’s what Varric focuses on for a few seconds before he finally looks past his shoulder.

Carver’s just behind them, broadsword stuck in the ground so he can lean on the pommel. He looks bored… maybe tired. That doesn’t stop him from sending Garrett a dark glower when he pushes himself upright. His attention returns to his elven companion within seconds, “We didn’t come here to fight the Inquisition, Fenris.”

“You are correct. But I  _will_  if I need to.” Fenris finally looks away, the expression turning on Garrett. The mage promptly shuffles in his spot, looking sheepish when Fenris begins to tap his fingers in a sign of thinning patience, “ _Hawke_ ….”

“I was going to write.” It’s a feeble attempt to curb what they  _all_  know is coming—well. Not all of them. Varric knows. Carver’s already walking away, shaking his head and muttering about his idiot older brother. Sebastian gives Fenris’ shoulder a firm squeeze and a solid look that might be telling him  _not_  to cause a bigger scene, before he gestures for Cassandra to follow him. Varric sticks around. Garrett tries again when there’s no immediate response, “Honestly, I had every intention of—”

“I’m aware of what you  _intended_  to do.” Still a steady tap against his arms, his fingers curling just a little more as though he’s going to stop. The scars are beginning to hum, emit a soft light; the true sign he’s not as calm as he wants everyone to believe.

“Fenris—” Varric tries; he’s cut off.

“I’m not speaking to you at the moment.” Fenris sends him a side long glance, “We will speak. Just not  _right now_.”

“There’s no reason to attack Varric.” Garrett actually sounds offended. There’s a deep frown etched across his features; but, there is no hesitation when he steps forward to grip Fenris’ shoulders, “It’s alright, now—”

“ _Alright?_ ” A temporary flare in the scars before they stop glowing all together, “We  _all_  got the letters, Hawke. We  _all_  knew what you were going to do. And we  _all_  are absolutely  _furious that you didn’t think to ask any of us for assistance_.”

Varric flinches this time when Garrett sends him a scowl; he  _might_  have ‘forgotten’ to mention that he sent letters about Corypheus’ return to everyone else. (To be fair, it had been logical; rather hear it first-hand than to hear it from rumours that had been mutilated a few weeks later.) Fenris takes a slow breath to keep from raising his voice, “We managed to talk Merrill out of following us. Kirkwall still isn’t safe—especially not for elves. Aveline is helping her keep the refugees safe—and  _she_  is threads away from showing up to drag you home herself.”

Garrett blanches; but, his curiousity gets the better of him, his gaze slowly drifting past Fenris’ shoulder, “Sebastian, then? And what did you have to tell Isabela?”

“Isabela’s using her ship and status to guarantee safe passage for refugees and those fleeing the war. It wasn’t hard to convince her that she needed to continue doing so.” Fenris looks over his shoulder, “Sebastian’s been trying to talk me out of this for weeks. He was unsuccessful, so he decided to come along. When I told him not to, his excuse was… what was it…? Oh, yes. He wanted to ‘formally introduce himself to the Ambassador,’ as they are apparently working to form an alliance between Starkhaven and the Inquisition.”

“So, he’s being choir boy.” Varric deadpans. Garrett snorts and even Fenris relaxes just enough to let the corner of his mouth tug into a hint of a smile. “That’s all great and well, but what is  _Junior_  doing here? Everyone agreed that he should be as far from this shit as possible and  _I_  didn’t send him a letter.”

“… You told everyone but Carver?  _Why_? If anyone I’d have preferred you tell Carver, Corypheus was after  _our blood, what if he’d sent the Wardens after Carver_ —”

“You’re a moron, did you know that?” Carver’s voice cuts through Garrett’s shrill worry this time and he rolls his eyes, “He needed the blood to open the prison. No prison, no need for us. Besides, my blood was tainted or some nonsense, remember? They wanted you, not me.”

“It certainly didn’t stop them from  _trying_ —wait. So. What  _are_  you doing here? If Varric didn’t tell you— _Fenris, you didn’t_ —”

“Absolutely not.” The elf looks offended by the notion and makes an idle gesture, “We happened to run across each other during the trip. I hadn’t thought to ask why he was heading towards Skyhold… though, it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise. The Inquisition accepts volunteers and this is the only common ground for Templars and Mages who  _haven’t_  lost their minds.”

“Thank the Maker  _one of you_  has a brain.” Carver snorts and shrugs, “Ignoring that I would have signed up anyways, I got a letter asking if I would join. So. Up both yours, I guess.”

“Who in the Hell—wait. Who—what—“ Garrett’s eye gives a violent twitch as it all falls into place. Fenris sighs and Varric shakes his head. He hadn’t really  _expected it_ , but there were only so many people that knew how to get in contact with any of the people that had been involved in the Battle of Kirkwall. The only thing he really wonders is whether Aveline had to deliver the letter or if Carver had been in correspondence with Cullen since the Inquisition had started.

A few minutes later—when Fenris finally convinces Garrett that “ _no, killing Cullen is not an option—nor will you attempt to wring his neck._ ”—Cullen comes down from his office, completely oblivious to the floodgate he’s opened and easily welcomes Carver—and Fenris and Sebastian—to Skyhold. Fenris ends up hauling Garrett off to keep him from launching at the other man.

//

It’s not their room back in the mansion—it isn’t a soft bed and silk sheets; the bed is sturdy and hardly comfortable, the blankets are hardly warm and are terribly scratchy. Garrett throws them into a corner of the room in favour of wrapping Fenris up in his arms and reveling in the familiar feeling. For his part, Fenris has stopped fussing—he’d spent the entire afternoon somewhere between wanting to snap at Garrett and just giving him the cold shoulder while he got his thoughts in order. He’s finally settled down into a reluctant compliance.

“I really did intend to write.” Garrett mumbles against his neck, gently kissing at the scars there. There’s a soft hum from the lyrium, but Fenris doesn’t flinch away like he used to. He’s still tense, but he relaxes within seconds and presses back into Garrett’s chest without thinking about it.

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I know, Hawke.”

“I just didn’t want you to—”

“ _Garrett._ ”

His mouth snaps shut, obediently, at the tone, and Fenris lets out a slow breath, “My apologies. I know why you didn’t ask any of us—me. Why you didn’t… ask me for help.” He mulls over his words for a moment, “You’re worried I’ll doing something brash.”

“I  _know_  you will.”

“And you’re doing any better than I would?” Fenris glances up, “Protecting me from protecting you. You know that doesn’t work.”

Garrett just sighs and moves to where he can bury his face in Fenris’ hair, “We’re going to spend every day arguing about this.”

“Of course we are.”

“But, y’know what?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m glad you’re all here. Especially you.” Garrett reaches up to turn his face, just enough to press a soft kiss to his lips, “I missed you.”

The only response this time is a small smile and Fenris making himself situating himself into a more comfortable position. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep. Garrett wonders, in passing, just how often Sebastian had to  _make him_  stop to rest… he makes a note to ask later. As he’s falling asleep himself, he wonders if he should warn Fenris about the other Inquisition members… particularly the mage occupying the library in the rafters. He hopes Varric’s already mentioned Dorian… if not, there’s going to be a lot of interesting sparks in the near future….

//

Surprisingly enough—and Garrett’s not sure how he didn’t consider this—Fenris doesn’t attack Dorian first.

He tries to attack Cole, when the spirit materializes out of nowhere during breakfast, asking if he can hear the song in his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> I was in denial over Here Lies the Abyss, so I made myself feel better uvu all of my DA:I fics are extremely self-indulgent, I make no apologies though. Also, Warden!Carver that hung out around the Gallows before the Deep Roads Expedition is my permanent headcanon and he was the giddiest little Warden recruit ever when he found someone to train him as a Templar (I'm assuming Alistair trained him. idk. Warden!Alistair for the feels, guys.)


End file.
